


Whumptober Ficlets

by FoundlingMother



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angry Odin (Marvel), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Beheading, Berserker Thor (Marvel), Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Brutal Murder, Burn the Ocean with Fire, Cancer, Castration, Caught, Character Death, Choking, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Electrocution, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exhaustion, Fantastic Racism, First Moments of Sapience, Force-Feeding, Frigga Whump, Gamora Whump, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Guilt, Hallucinations, Headaches & Migraines, Heavy Angst, Hela Whump, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Warprize!Bestla, Imprisonment, Infant Death, Injury, Injury Recovery, Insomnia, Internalized Homophobia, Intersex Jotunn (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Kid Gamora (Marvel), Kid Loki (Marvel), Kid Nebula (Marvel), Kid Thor (Marvel), Kidnapping, Loki Posing as Odin, Loki Whump, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Menstrual Cycle, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Nebula Whump, Needles, Non-Graphic Violence, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Odin Whump, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Poisoning, Possessive Thor (Marvel), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Canon, Pre-Thor (2011), Pregnant Loki (Marvel), Protective Siblings, Psychological Torture, Rocket Whump, Sakaar (Marvel), Seizures, Self-Hatred, Sex, Sex for Favors, Sibling Incest, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, The Ocean is a Terrifying Death Trap, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Thor: The Dark World, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Trans Male Character, Unborn Child Death, Valkyrie Whump, War, Whumptober 2018, thor whump, transgender loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 13,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundlingMother/pseuds/FoundlingMother
Summary: A series of whump fics where I make Thor, Loki, and perhaps other MCU characters suffer. Chapter summaries note corresponding ships (or lack thereof) and tags.Whumptober Prompt List





	1. Stabbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki Whump, Thor: The Dark World, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery

The first sharp breath Loki inhales burns through his parched throat and forces his lungs to inflate against the invisible weight compressing his chest. He tries to slow the next breath, but it too lances through him. Over and over he gasps. The pressure—the aching tightness—never dissipates.

His limbs are stiff and weak. Uncontrollable shivers pass through him.

His mind works at a sluggish pace, trudging through the pain and the shock towards…

He should be dead.

Because Frigga—his mother—is dead. Because he assisted the enemy that slew her. Because Thor promised a cell, which, without Frigga, was a promise of madness. Loki’s mind would twist every memory, turn on itself in a brutal assault until it fractured beyond repair. Deserved, perhaps, but not desired. Not when he clung to new and hard-won sanity.

This feels familiar. To welcome death, only to have that relief snatched from him.

A gust of wind cools damp tear tracks on his cheeks.

Loki attempts to curl in on himself. Agony seizes him, yanking him flat.

Shallow breaths are all he can manage against the chest pain.

Kurse impaled Loki on the blade protruding from his chest.

Loki’s fingers twitch, skating over his tough leather armor, colliding with raised, rutted flesh.

He strains upright. Sits panting until he catches his breath.

Dull throbbing ebbs and flows beneath his breast. Torturous waves of sensation, threatening to submerge Loki.

He tips his chin forward.

Running down the center of Loki’s torso, a rigid, greyscale scar.

Examining the discoloration and spread of the blemish, theories begin to form. Theories about his impossible survival. It’s a morbid curiosity.

It strikes him that there’s no clear divide between armor and scar tissue.

Loki prepares to swallow. Gags.

Nauseous. Dizzy. Fragile, hysteria encroaching.

The material of his armor has fused with the grotesque scar.

And it cannot remain so.

Loki closes his eyes, shutting out the world, focusing on breathing, though the tension of the wound denies him true respite.

Flimsy calm fashions support beams around Loki’s psyche.

He summons a knife. The familiar sensation of seiðr dances over the palm of his hand.

He holds it level with his breast, fingers clenched painfully around the grip. Steady, or something near it.

Loki slices the knife across the leather in a jagged oval. Listens to it sink into pitch-black gravel. He sheds pieces of his ruined armor, grateful to feel it peel away from his back—the exit wound—without complication. Only the material fused with scar tissue remains marring his torso.

Jaw set, he retrieves the knife.

He shaves off strips of the mutilated skin, picking at scraps of solid, smooth black with the tip of the knife until they begin to peal. Blackened-blood oozes forth, clots disturbed. Grey-yellow puss seeps out of blisters. The fluids mix, flow in tracks down Loki’s bare stomach, pool at his navel.

Hyperventilating. Vision murky at the edges. Fingers sticky.

He does not take proper care in cutting away the last of the fused armor. The knife stabs too deep, leaving a fresh laceration in its wake.

He drops it once more. Presses a filthy hand to the bleeding gash.

Breathes in. And out.

Loki collapses against the surface of the desolate realm, emotions overtaxed to the point of numbness.

Time passes. Second. Minutes. Hours. Days. He knows not.

_What now?_

Heavy footfalls alert Loki the approaching Einherjar. The man pauses, no doubt studying Loki for signs of life.

“On your feet, prisoner. The Allfather demands you return to Asgard and face judgment for your treason.”

Loki chuckles, mirthless.

His fingers close once more around the knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober is here! How excitingly miserable! I hope my first drabble was suitably whumpish. I like doing little speculation pieces about the scenes we don't see in the MCU.


	2. Bloody Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor Whump, Pre-Thor (2011), Berserker Thor (Marvel), Blood and Gore

“Calm, my son.”

Thor pants, throat raw. Muscles relaxing by degrees, heavy and soar. Fatigued.

Odin stands ten long paces ahead of Thor, Gungnir supporting his tired frame. His father appears to have aged, face creased, eyes sunken and pooling with a sorrow that’s never touched Thor’s heart, that he could not hope to understand. That he does not want to, and yet he must try.

Thor’s brow furrows in confusion. He cannot remember how they got here—

_Uproarious cheering filling the tournament grounds following Thor’s triumphant victory._

_The braggart—Thor’s final opponent—furious over losing._

_The ring of Einherjar drawing their blades._

_The glint of the knife soaring through the air._

_The way Loki staggered back, fingers brushing over the hilt where the knife embedded itself in his throat._

_Frigga’s cry._

_Odin’s shouts._

_Fury._

“Loki,” Thor chokes. A fear? A plea?

_Norns, no. Anything but him. Little brother._

“Your brother was taken to the Halls of Healing. Eir’s skills are unquestionable. He will survive,” Odin explains.

Laughter bubbles out of Thor. Relief. “Thank the Norns. I must go to him—”

Thor's foot catches on something. He steadies himself. Looks down.

Waves of nausea crash over Thor.

Blood. It surrounds him, a sea of red. It paints the armor he wears. The lingering scraps of his cape are stained a deeper crimson.

There are not corpses around him, only fragments. There are limbs. A decapitated head nestled within its Einherjar helm. The right side of someone’s—a woman’s—body below the waist.

He tripped on an unidentifiable torso. Gaping. Intestines yanked out. Left lung and heart vanished.

Blood and Excrement. Thor registers the smells—commonplace on a battlefield. But not along the ornate, golden walkways of Asgard.

“My son,” Odin mourns.

Thor knows. He knows. He knows.

He gags. Wretches. Bile joins the myriad of fluids and scents.

He knows. He does.

Thor lifts the dead weights at his sides—his arms. Stares.

Filthy. Disgusting. Sickening.

Hands trembling. Hands soaked in blood. Innocent blood. Innocent victims. Torn apart.

Æsir. His people.

Thor forces himself to meet Odin’s glassy gaze. The eyes of a broken father.

“What have I done?” Thor exhales, sanity teetering on a knife’s edge.

Tears spill down Odin’s cheeks.

“My son.”

_The Berserker._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a drabble, this one... Poor Thor :( I like angsty Berserker!Thor content where Thor's locked away and Loki's still unloved by the populace, but also suddenly the only heir. No one is happy!


	3. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki; Loki Whump, Alternate Universe - Human, Transgender Loki, Trans Male Character, Menstrual Cycle, Gender Dysphoria, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't agree with Loki's view of periods. They aren't unmanly. Periods and PMS are experienced by people of a variety of genders, and we as a society should be working to normalize that. So that 14-year-olds, like Loki in this fic, and like the many trans men whose stories I read, don't feel this way about their menstrual cycles.

Without sleep, the world feels simultaneously dull and sharp. Contradicting sensations overwhelming the brain. Exhausting.

Loki sprawls atop his sheets, comforter kicked over the edge of the bed, staring up into the ceiling light.

_Bright._

Part of Loki wants to turn off the light, but the dark invites gut-punching anxiety. Paranoia. Every sound of the house settling an intruder. Every unexplained quiver of the mattress a swelling earthquake.

Sometimes Loki hears voices. Men chatting in the backyard, their voices hissing whispers. He can hear them when he plugs his ears—that’s how Loki knows they’re auditory hallucinations.

Severe sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations. Loki’s been awake for over ninety hours.

PMS wreaks havoc on the body. Mood swings. Cravings. Bloating. Tender breasts. Glaring physical reminders of this body—the body Loki’s stuck in.

In some ways, no matter how miserable Loki feels, the week of insomnia he experiences during PMS is preferable to unabating gender dysphoria. Threads of thought unravel as they’re spun into existence. Emotions float aimlessly. Lights hypnotize Loki into a waking coma.

He won’t remember large chunks of time.

He doesn’t remember the last hour.

Is there anything to remember?

He thinks he should be concerned. Can’t muster the energy.

Shutting down. Awake, but shutting down.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Blood pumping. Buzzing sound in the background.

“Loki?”

Loki jolts, muscles rippling with tension, breath catching. Butterflies flood his stomach.

He recognizes the voice.

Throat suddenly tight, Loki begins to cry. He jostles onto his side, gazing at Thor where he stands next to the bathroom door. Under the artificial lighting, Thor glows, his hair sunlight.

Loki fixates on Thor’s beauty through the fog of fatigue.

Thor crosses the room in two long strides. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His fingers brush Loki’s damp cheek. “I saw your light on when I went to the bathroom.” He cups Loki’s neck.

He says something else—Loki catches the words “that time,” doesn’t absorb their context.

“I’m so tired, Thor.” Loki fists the sleeve of Thor’s t-shirt, unsure when he grabbed it. “So tired.”

Thor nods, frowning. His lips move.

Loki slow blinks. His brow furrows. His chest tightens. “I can’t—”

“Shhh,” Thor soothes. Places a kiss on the corner of Loki’s mouth.

He sits on the bed. Maneuvers Loki’s head into his lap. Loki’s vision’s gone black. Except, no, Thor’s just turned off the lights.

_When?_

Thor’s hand cradles Loki’s neck, thumb skating along Loki’s angular chin. “You have to talk to mom about this. It isn’t healthy, Lo.”

Loki’s shaking his head before Thor finishes speaking. His heart stutters, stomach sinking. “I hate—”

_This body._

It’s an embarrassment. It makes him feel less than a man. It’s stupid, but it does. Talking about it equals admitting defeat.

Over the counter sleep medications just immobilize him. Home remedies don’t do shit. Loki’s checked the internet. He’s fourteen. The treatments he’d be prescribed for PMS symptoms are designed for women. 

Odin refuses to allow Loki to start testosterone therapy before he's sixteen.

_Fucking bastard._

He twists, burrowing into the crease where Thor’s leg meets his hip, inhaling the musky scent of his brother. “Don’t want to be on birth control. Don’t want—”

Loki’s skin prickles.

Warm fingers massage his scalp. “I know, baby.”

The discomfort gets lost, Loki becoming distracted by Thor’s ministrations.

The more Thor rubs, the more Loki’s scalp tingles and stretches, generating a sense of weightlessness.

Loki giggles. “It feels like my head’s a balloon. Like it’s going to pop or float away.”

“I’ve got you, Lo,” Thor reassures. “Just sleep. I’m here.”

Loki swallows around the lump in his throat. “Ok.”

Sleep never takes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to all the trans men online who've detailed their experiences with periods as teenagers. This isn't a universal experience, but what's written here is based on some of those accounts. Even more credit to my friend who talked to me for a good half an hour about his experience with PMS and gender dysphoria, and who speculated about how he'd have felt if his PMS had been like mine. Yes, not sleeping for days is something that really happened to me. There are two separate weeks in my past where I slept not at all. Awake for six or seven days solid. Literally no sleep. It made me physically and mentally ill, unsurprisingly. I went on birth control at 14 to sleep. My friend said that, for him, that kind of treatment would have been deeply disturbing.


	4. "No, stop!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki Whump, Character Death, Infant Death, Suicide, Self-Hatred, Internalized Homophobia, Fantastic Racism, Heavy Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one might not even be whump... I'm torturing you guys more than it feels like I'm torturing Loki.

_“No, stop!”_

Odin halts.

The babe’s wails echo throughout the frozen temple.

_“Do not claim him.”_

Odin resumes walking towards the pedestal.

_“Ergi. Trickster. Liesmith.”_

The babe—a boy—beats his fists beside his ears. Fat tears roll over blue cheeks, flow along heritage markings.

Laufey’s son. A runt with features like an Áss.

_“A disappointment to his family. A monster.”_

This could be an opportunity. Asgard could exert total control over Jotunheim through this child, were they loyal to Odin’s line.

_“Thor’s ruin!”_

Odin’s stomach grows heavy. His fingers, hovering above the babe, curl inward.

Raising the child of the enemy, a million terrible outcomes might come to pass. What if he resented Thor? What if he ruined him? Destroyed Odin’s worthy son.

_“Bane of Asgard. Ragnarok’s enkindler.”_

Odin turns his back on the pathetic creature.

He leaves Jotunheim with the Casket of Ancient Winters.

Nothing else.

* * *

“What moment did you alter?” the Norns ask.

The magpie’s wings flutter. Feathers shake free, swirling within Yggdrasil’s highest branches.

Beneath, naked skin fading, turning translucent. The man, no longer hidden within the magpie, quivers, vision swimming.

_Altered? Nay, fixed. Permanently fixed._

“Odin’s most grievous mistake,” hisses—

Yggdrasil forgets.

* * *

Jotunheim stands still in the aftermath of the Æsir assault. Birds of prey fly overhead, swoop into a quiet structure—the temple.

Ravenous, they feast on the carcass of a Jötunn infant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm imagining Loki's seiðr latching onto the Space Stone and launching his soul into Yggdrasil. He feels responsible for everything that's happened, so when the Norns offer him a chance to alter a single moment in time... I don't know. I couldn't think of anything! Imagine what you will.
> 
> I'm not happy with it. I mean, it's fine. I like the premise. But this prompt's frustrated me. I wash my hands of it and look forward to tomorrow. Now there's a satisfying whump fic!


	5. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki; Loki and Thor Whump, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Thor and Loki Are Not Related, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Fantastic Racism, Threats of Rape/Non-con, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Poisoning, Blood

The servants strip Loki of the Æsir finery they’d forced him into, roughly unbraid Loki’s hair, and massage scented oils into his skin, even daring to touch his posterior and the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, unsolicited.

Then they leave.

The smell of the oils—at once sharp and sweet—nauseates Loki.

He refuses to remain bare, awaiting the Prince of Asgard like an expensive whore. Refuses to accept yet another afront to his status.

_Bend without breaking._

Loki dons Prince Thor’s robe, adjusting the too-long sleeves caught on the Allfather’s seiðr-suppressing handcuffs.

Settled in the center of the bed, he fantasizes that the ocean of blankets surrounding him might prove enough of a buffer to deter the inevitable. Thor appeared inebriated during their wedding feast. Perhaps the rolling hills of the comforter would overwhelm the drunkard.

_Childish imaginings._

Alcohol might calm Loki’s nerves. He does not touch the wine laid out for the couple on the bureau beside the bed, one goblet settled within his reach. Loki’s refused to eat or drink anything since coming to Asgard, save for the ice he conjures. Precautionary measure. It's not like hunger's a new experience.

Loki clutches an arm around his stomach. Purses his lips. Blinks away the stinging of his eyes.

Waits.

Thor enters the bedroom sometime later, saturated in the stench of ale. He treads, unstable, to the foot of the bed, along the left side.

“You’re wearing my robe,” Thor slurs. Disapproving? Angered? Indifferent? Loki cannot tell.

He meets Thor’s eyes. Steady.

“I was not provided one.”

“You were not meant to have one.”

Loki scowls. “I shouldn’t think you’d protest. When I arrived via the Bifrost, you appeared to find my nudity distasteful.” He ignores the tingling flush—violet-hued humiliation—growing over his face.

_Nudity demanded by the Allfather. A symbol of Loki's—Jotunheim's—subjugation._

Thor stumbles forward.

Loki’s heart leaps, hammering in his throat. He fists the comforter, knuckles pale blue with tension.

Thor does not strike Loki. Does not attempt to mount him. He catches himself, one hand pressed to the surface of the bedside bureau. Eyes the goblets—the full one placed nearer to Loki and the empty one for Thor—and wraps his other hand around the neck of the wine bottle, tossing the drink back.

Gulping. Carmine rivers escaping past his lips, winding through his trimmed beard.

A grotesque display.

Loki turns away, studying the pattern of the bedspread.

Thor’s lips pop. He gasps. Sighs. “You seem tense. Should a bride not be happy on her wedding night?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Loki spits, squinting, pulse quickening. “I cannot feign excitement when I am to be raped by a mindless, genocidal sot.”

Thor shatters the empty bottle against the wall above Loki. Glass rains on the pillows. In Loki’s hair.

“Speak to me thusly again, and I will have you kept in the stables,” he threatens. “I am the one forced to commit an act of bestiality, runt.”

Loki remains paralyzed, eyes closing tight.

He hears the scrape of metal against polished wood. Hears Thor swallow.

Hears him gag. Hears the clatter of a goblet—Loki’s half-full wine goblet—hitting the ground.

_Bang!_

Loki jolts, vision darting toward the noise.

Thor lies collapsed. Writhes. Wretches, clutching his throat. Furious gash across his forehead where he must have struck the bureau in falling.

Blood floods his mouth, dribbles down his chin, stains the stone floors with each choked cough.

_Poison._

Loki flies off the bed. Hovers over Thor, dizzy, heart racing.

“Guards,” he murmurs. “Guards! Guards!” he cries with greater conviction.

Thor’s eyes bulge. Terrified.

Loki drops to his knees. Pries Thor’s hand from his throat and replaces it with a shaking one of his own.

Wearing the seiðr-suppressing cuffs, Loki cannot repair all the damage, but the Allfather did not deny him access to minor healing and tissue strengthening spells, nor a numbing spell. Useful to prevent and treat injury related to rough couplings.

His seiðr pulses through Thor, following the poison’s descent, numbing his mutilated esophagus and reversing the damage as much as possible. It weaves along the lining of Thor’s stomach, prepared to defend from the poison’s corrosive effect.

Thor manages a couple of shallow breaths. Whimpers. His fingers squeeze Loki’s wrist.

Loki glances at the goblet meant for him. The inside must have been coated with the poison, for the wine itself did not harm Thor.

Utilizing his grasp on Loki’s wrist, Thor tugs himself onto his other side, head dropping onto Loki’s lap. He buries his face against Loki’s leg, one bloodshot, watery blue eye gazing up at Loki, shining with genuine gratitude.

Why did he not let Thor die?

“Guards!” Loki yells. Armored boots echo beyond Thor’s chambers.

Thor exhales through his nose—a sharp, panicked thing Loki feels through the fabric of Thor’s robe.

Hesitant, he brushes Thor’s hair at the temple with his free hand. Again, Thor squeezes the one trapped in his grip.

Three Einherjar burst into the room. The man in front blinks, shocked. Shouts for others. In moments, what seems to be an entire unit of Einherjar swarm Thor’s suite.

Loki notices their movements too late. Two Einherjar seize him, wrenching him away from Thor.

“He tried to assassinate Prince Thor. Take him to the prisons.”

Cold dread coils in Loki’s belly. They lock chains to the Allfather's handcuffs. “No! I—”

They silence him. Muzzle him. 

Loki thrashes. The Einherjar drag him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's the longest yet! You can see a hint of the idea that Loki "crossed the border" (traveled the Bifrost to Asgard) naked, something I've adopted as my headcanon for all arranged marriage scenarios thanks to [fairy-changeling](http://fairy-changeling.tumblr.com/). It was really too good to pass up mentioning, given that it can be a source of extra whump. [Read fairy-changeling's story where this happens](http://fairy-changeling.tumblr.com/post/176960460553/it-was-early-in-the-morning-when-the-two-parties). I promise it's happier than mine. It will be a nice dessert now that you've eaten all your veggies.


	6. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Hela, Loki, and Thor Whump, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Suicide Attempt

Nails scraped to bloody stubs, clawing for purchase on smooth stone, leaving streaks of crimson. Chains rattling against the ground. Locked around her feet. Her wrists. Her throat.

Flat on her chest, being dragged from the grand halls of Glaðsheimr.

“Coward!” Hela’s voice rings throughout the throne room. “Look at me!”

Odin sits on Hlidskjalf, Gungnir in hand. His eyes remain downcast, studying his embroidered, golden robes.

Skin flushed hot. Hatred. Humiliation.

Hela cannot draw breath, lungs constricting.

“Look at—”

An Einherjar yanks the chain around her neck, tugging her onto her back, head near their feet. Silencing her demand.

Nay, her plea.

Her stomach tightens with the urge to expel her weakness.

She does not beg. She does not surrender.

She bites the ankles of the Einherjar. Thrashes. Breaks their bones between her jaw.

More appear.

Carrying out her father’s command: Imprison her. Forever.

* * *

“No, Loki.”

Regret and disappointment etched into the lines of Odin’s face.

_No, Jötunn monster._

_No, stolen relic, now purposeless._

_No, unworthy ‘son’._

Tears wet the corners of Loki’s eyes. Tears that will burn.

He cannot swallow around the lump lodged in his throat.

Gungnir slides smooth within his slackened grip.

“Loki, no,” Thor implores, voice strangled.

He would not. Not if he knew.

“No!” Thor bellows.

_“No, Loki.” “No, Loki.” “No, Loki.”_

Echoing.

Loki spirals into the void.

* * *

Rubble litters the stone floor.

Thor treads lightly. Gazes down at the fractured fresco.

One slab, his own face, expression wise and noble.

Cracked. In the center of his forehead. Broken line cutting over his right eye.

Seiðr clings to the image, golden corona swirling behind his head.

Foreboding settles in Thor's breast.

He looks up.

Blood and slavery and death.

Odin, standing proud, Gungnir held tight, in the middle of it all.

The Allfather.

_“They're well reminded of our strength…”_

Hela, riding into battle beside Odin. Holding her weapon high—his right hand.

His firstborn. His heir.

Hela’s face. Thor’s face. Hela’s actions. Thor’s actions.

Nausea roils in his gut.

Casting his eyes down to the glowing, splintered prince, wise and noble, Thor does not see himself.

Only his father’s lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's unclear, the way the prompt connects is that these are the moments where Odin betrayed his children. Or, really, when they discovered his betrayal. The moments when they can no longer forgive their father for all he's done (to them, to others).


	7. Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor Whump, Kid Thor (Marvel), War, Brutal Murder, Kidnapping

War with Jotunheim rages.

Less than a decade prior, the Æsir tasted victory.

Laufey’s sudden death changed the course of the war. His mate, Farbauti, and a giantess, Skadi, filled the power vacuum. Altered the battle strategies of their warriors.

Jötnar victories became more numerous. The Æsir lost ground, pushed out of the great fortresses peppering Jotunheim’s landscape.

Thor understood little of the war. It did not touch Asgard, where he played and planted gardens with his mother.

His father fought, and Thor never saw him. But Frigga would tell Thor stories of Odin—of his prowess in battle—and sing him to sleep, so Thor did not feel sad.

Then, the war spread to other realms, and Frigga—his mother—left.

Swiping tears from Thor’s eyes, she laid a kiss on his brow and promised Fulla—her handmaid—would sing to him.

Ice barbs shaped like burs lock Fulla’s jaw wide open. Fill her bloody, shredded throat.

She had been a pretty singer. Now Thor, back pressed against the rapidly cooling wall, stares into her lifeless, terrified eyes.

They’d taken Thor from Asgard a month ago and hidden in Vanaheim’s mountains. Just Thor, Fulla, and an Einherjar unit.

The Frost Giants found them. Beat them. An Einherjar blade protrudes from one Jötunn’s thigh.

Two monsters tower over Thor, casting deep shadows. Black, engulfing, oppressive shadows.

Thor wants to be brave. He threw a wooden sword in defense of Fulla.

Before they’d grown their spikes through the back of her neck, blood fountaining, staining the floor.

Before piss tracked down Thor’s quivering legs. Before his vision swam with tears.

“You’re coming with us, little Áss.”

Thor wails, thrashes, held firm in a massive, blue fist.

Bound for Jotunheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something. Poor baby Thor. I'm picturing him at about five developmentally. I'm evil. Don't worry, there will be a sequel! On the 11th! Who might baby Thor find while on Jotunheim? Hmmm... I wonder.


	8. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki Whump, Loki Posing as Odin, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Intersex Jotunn (Marvel), Mating Cycles/In Heat, Masturbation, Fantastic Racism, Self-Hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The c-word appears in this chapter. It isn't used as a slur, but I know that word upsets a lot of people (though not me personally), so I thought a warning couldn't hurt.

Masquerading as Odin requires Loki to rise before the palace servants. Bathe and relieve himself early, so there’s no risk of discovery, and so that Loki never need see Odin’s nude figure.

A fate worse than Thanos.

Well, perhaps not so bad, but Loki imagines it’s a good sign for the health of his mind that he can turn past torture into a jest.

The health of Loki’s body seems to be in decline, however. For the past week, he’s felt _off_. There’s no better way to describe the affliction. Beyond bloating—a symptom that continues to worsen each night when Loki sheds Odin’s visage—there’s lethargy and atypical shifts in mood. He’s always been a tad mercurial, but the last few days have been positively unstable.

The Allfather’s quarters are shrouded in darkness when Loki wakes. He feels swollen around the middle. Disgusting. His hips and upper thighs ache. His tunic clings to his sweaty skin.

There’s sweat—somehow sticky and slick—between his legs.

Loki releases a mortified groan, muffled by a pillow, and stands, padding into the washroom.

Seiðr lights twinkle into existence as he enters. Bending at the edge of the tub, he turns the handles to draw a bath. He straightens and moves to retrieve bath oils and soaps, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Freezes.

Loki avoids lingering in mirrors now he knows the Æsir skin he wears to be false.

He fears staring too long, uncovering the monster beneath the surface.

Irrational fear. Shapeshifting typically requires intention, if not effort.

Typically.

Loki’s stomach sinks.

He cannot breathe, lungs irrevocably twisted. Suffocating.

He’s never seen _it_ before. Now its disturbing red eyes fix on him.

Blood stains its inner thighs. Drips, drips, drips onto its calf.

Loki strangles a scream escaping his lips. Sounds like a wounded cat.

His lungs demand air, and he breathes rapid breaths. Somehow.

Dizzy.

He watches, eyes wide, as it slips a hand between its legs—blue and lined—and presses a finger against unfamiliar, tender folds.

It, it, it. Carefully detached, but it’s Loki who feels the sensitivity of… this.

His cunt.

He is a Jötunn. He has a cunt. A bleeding cunt.

His fingers come away coated in a viscous, sanguineous fluid.

There’s a roaring in Loki’s ears that he realizes is the sound of the water filling the tub. Hand shaking, he reaches down to stop the flow. Steam rises, clouding the reflection.

Not unlike a layer of frost.

Loki flicks his wrist.

The mirror flashes seiðr-green. Fractures into tiny pieces that spill, tinkling, to the floor.

Loki submerges himself in the bath water, washing away the blood.

He surfaces with pale skin. Swears never to think of this morning.

* * *

It happens the next morning. Loki hobbles into the washroom—stiff and bloated and pained—and purifies the blood-covered monster. Seals it away.

Rules the kingdom wearing Odin’s face.

Except the maids discover red stains on the sheets, and they inform the healers.

Eir approaches Loki after the noontime meal. He’s sat in Frigga’s garden, papers set aside. Loki cannot concentrate.

Eir expresses concern for the Allfather’s health. Asks permission to examine him.

Loki, straining to remain entombed in Odin’s flesh, denies her.

It’s hot. Insufferably hot.

* * *

Dawn breaks and Loki’s skin will not shift. The violet-flushed blue complexion persists.

It drains what’s left of Loki’s strength to maintain an illusion long enough to make excuses, and to ward the bedchamber from visitors.

He slips into the fever. Long stretches of time fade from memory.

There’s only the burning.

Of his skin.

Of desire.

Uncomfortable. Sore.

Empty.

Loki’s nothing but a common bitch in heat. An animal. A beast, mindless with lust.

_Revolting._

He rides his fingers, sometimes for hours. They’re not enough. They’re terrible, and they’re the only thing keeping him sane. Keeping him from ordering an Einherjar—one of the men out in the corridor—to fuck him full of their seed.

_Pathetic._

Loki tries to sleep through the fever. Sees _its_ red-eyed reflection behind his eyelids.

_Abominable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you thought heat cycles were so great? Nope! During the proestrus phase, there can be bleeding a bloating. Of course, fevers aren't really a thing when an animal's "in heat", but I'm trying to torture Loki! All the true, sucky aspects and the tropes to make my boy miserable (I am having bad cramps). Anyway, I've wanted to hurt Loki like this for a while. Whumptober shall provide!


	9. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Valkyrie Whump, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) - Freeform, Minor Character Death

The good news (the only good news): The fuel projections prove accurate.

Leaving the _Statesman_ ’s escape shuttles, laden with the last of the Æsir, stranded alongside a moon, within its planet’s magnetosphere.

With limited supplies. Severely limited. In a matter of days, the survivors will be without food. Water might last just over a week.

Valkyrie has a headache. From tension or withdrawals. Or both.

She glares at the floor. Grooved, metal panels, covering the inner workings of the ship. Life support functions. Exposed. Unreliable.

Her fellow passengers are fragile, their nerves frayed. A baby gurgles, unhappy. His mother shushes him. Someone snores.

_Aren’t they the lucky one?_

These are not her people. She does not know them.

They are civilians.

Valkyrie should not be their leader. She is a general. She led the Valkyrior—sisters-in-arms. Battle-hardened women. Women who swore to die defending Asgard.

Not children. Not elders. Not common folk, eyes red and puffy. Their livelihoods and safety toppled.

How can Valkyrie ask these people to be calm in the face of certain death?

Pain throbs across her brow.

“May I?”

Valkyrie squints up at the woman—a Vanir—soft-faced, a curtain of straight, black hair tucked behind her ears. Dark eyes brimming with gentle concern and compassion. The eyes of a healer. Her slender fingers hover near Valkyrie’s forehead.

Valkyrie nods once. Grimaces.

Seiðr bathes her temple. Cooling. Refreshing. Vanishing her headache.

Her consternation does not vanish.

“Thank you…”

“Sigyn.”

“Thank you, Lady Sigyn.”

Sigyn’s filthy skirts swish over the metal. She settles beside Valkyrie, placing a hand atop Valkyrie’s fist.

“You’ve done well, choosing to utilize the planet’s magnetic distortion to hide our ships. The people trust you," Sigyn comforts, tone quiet. Private.

Valkyrie snorts, incredulous. “Why?”

“You are the Valkyrie. They’ve all heard the stories.”

“Stories…” Valkyrie’s skin itches, ill at ease. “They shouldn’t trust me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, unless half of the survivors drop dead, our supplies aren’t workable,” Valkyrie bites, careful to keep her voice low enough for only Sigyn's ears. Sigyn squeezes her hand. Sharing—halving—Valkyrie’s dread.

For a moment.

In Valkyrie’s peripheral vision, Sigyn frowns. Withdraws her hand.

“I—Oh—” She lifts her hand. Brushes it against her cheek.

Beneath her fingers, her flesh turns to dust. It spreads.

Black particles hanging in the stagnant air of the shuttle. Sinking in the artificial gravity. More and more. Landing on the bench. The ground. Valkyrie’s legs.

Until there’s nothing left of Sigyn.

Blood pounds in Valkyrie’s ears.

“Norns, what—” The voice cuts off.

Gasps.

“Sága?” A desperate, final breath.

Neck stiff, Valkyrie turns away from Sigyn’s dusty remains. Faces the rest of the shuttle.

A woman drops to her knees, lap and arms coated in a layer of dust. It spills onto the floor, and her hands cup the precious powder.

“My baby. My Hein. No. No,” she pleads, shattered expression marring her features.

Valkyrie’s stomach sinks.

An elderly man—the only other solid passenger—closes his eyes. Lets his head fall against the hull.

The hollow thud echoes the beating of Valkyrie’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I have no excuse for my actions. IW is a good source of whump, and I'm enamored with Valkyrie's reintegration into Asgardian society, and how difficult it must be, especially having all the bullshit those people have been through dumped on her shoulders. Also, I figured Sigyn could exist, if only briefly. Why not, right?
> 
> Also, to make it a bit more painful, I'm imagining them hanging out by Saturn. That's right, they're not even that far from Earth (relatively).


	10. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki; Loki and Thor Whump, Alternate Universe - Human, Sibling Incest, Sex, Caught, Angry Odin (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Guilt, Protective Siblings, Possessive Thor (Marvel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. A midterm threw me off schedule. We're gonna try and catch up this weekend.

“Thor—” Thor’s hips thrust. Sensation curls Loki’s toes, turning Thor’s name into breathless gasps. Loki reaches up. Fists Thor’s hair, pulled free of its loose ponytail.

Full—full of Thor. Not enough. “More. Harder.”

Panting breaths gust against Loki’s ear. “Gonna come, baby? Gonna come on your big brother’s cock?”

Fresh tears blur Loki’s vision. He nods, desperate and jerky.

“God,” Thor groans. He buries his nose in Loki’s neck, pressing lingering kisses against the purple bruises littered across Loki’s pale skin. “Perfect. Fucking perfect. My brother. Mine—”

_Thud._

Thor jolts upward, arms either side of Loki’s head, muscles tensing.

Loki’s breath catches, not from pleasure. He stares wide-eyed up at Thor. Paralyzed.

Footsteps, drawing nearer.

Thor pulls out. Tugs the heavy, woven blanket draped over the back of the couch. Conceals Loki's lower body.

He rises. Grabs his discarded athletic shorts.

Odin enters the living room as Thor’s sliding them over his thighs, cock, hard and lube-covered, bared to their father’s scrutiny.

Loki sits up, adjusting the quilt. Eyes locked on its stitching.

He can’t look at Odin. He can’t.

Silence. Save for the snap of Thor’s waistband. Save for the gallop of Loki’s heart.

“What the fuck?”

Low. Furious.

Loki shrinks back into the plush cushions. Throat dry. Impossible to swallow.

“Loki.” 

Calm. Gentle.

“Can you stand?” Thor asks.

Legs quaking, Loki does.

“You were—How long—You’re brothers! This is sick!”

“Good, Loki.” Thor guides Loki behind him. Moves towards the stairs, always between him and Odin.

“Is this some sort of act of rebellion? How could you allow Loki to talk you into… _this_?”

Loki flushes, angry. Always his fault. Always Loki corrupting Thor.

But hadn’t he? Hadn’t Thor been reluctant?

“Go to my room, Loki,” Thor growls.

“Thor—”

“Go.”

Loki dashes upstairs without thinking. Throws open Thor’s door.

The door doesn’t lock. Letting the blanket drop, Loki shoves Thor’s dresser, barricading himself in the room.

Loki collapses, shoulder blade smacking the wall.

He can’t breathe. Can’t focus.

Gasping. Vision swimming.

His ears ring.

He circles his arms around his knees. Rocks. Attempts to compose himself.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Awareness of his surroundings returning, Loki feels the wall vibrate against his back with the force Odin exerts on the door.

“Get out here, boy!”

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Loki head slots between his bare legs.

_What happened? Where’s Thor?_

“You can’t hide in there forever! You and Thor are _both_ going to face the consequences, Loki!”

_Coward. Running from Odin. Abandoning Thor._

“Wait until your mother gets home. Don’t even think of calling her. I’ll have none of your lies. Can’t spin this one.” Odin goes quiet.

Loki manages a shaky breath. Inhale. Exhale.

“Fuck, the two of you—Do you know? Do you know how much this will break your mother’s heart? How ashamed she’ll be? Fuck! How could you do this to us?”

_‘It felt right.’_

_‘I felt special.’_

_‘Thor said he loved me, too. Wanted me, too.’_

Paper-thin excuses. Lead on Loki’s tongue.

Odin’s weighty footfalls cause the floorboards to creak.

Loki stays put. Minutes tick by.

Odin opens the fridge. Slams it shut. Slams the sliding glass door out to the back patio.

There’s no sound of Thor in the house.

Crawling across the carpet, Loki rifles through the dresser drawers. Dresses in a pair of Thor’s shorts and a t-shirt, baggy on Loki’s lean frame.

Outside, a car engine cuts off. Frigga enters the front door. Announces her arrival.

Loki climbs out of Thor’s window, long legs dangling. Lands in the hedges, wincing, ass sore.

He half-limps, half-runs in the direction of Volstagg’s house.

Every summer, Volstagg’s large family goes camping. (“Glamping,” Thor said to Volstagg. “You’re renting a fancy cabin.”) Thor housesits. Waters the plants. Brings in the mail.

A good place for Thor to go to escape Odin.

The door’s unlatched when Loki arrives, feet smarting from trekking barefoot over asphalt.

“Thor?”

“In here.”

Loki enters the kitchen, bathed in the dim range hood light. Thor sits against a row of cabinets, legs sprawling, pressing something to his right eye. Loki squints into the shadows. Frozen peas.

He flicks the light switch.

Blotches of red—tender, forming bruises—decorate Thor’s tanned face, chest, and arms.

“Thor—” Loki chokes.

“I’m fine, Lo.”

He is not. How could he be? Odin yells. Shouts up and down the halls. Denies them privacy—their freedoms.

But he does not _beat_ them.

Loki yanks the freezer open, grabbing another pack of frozen vegetables. Corn, he notes.

He covers the brightest, most furious red mark on Thor’s left cheek. Thor grimaces.

“Did you take pain meds? They can reduce the inflammation—”

“I know. Yes, I did.” Thor caresses Loki’s hand atop the makeshift ice pack. “Thank you.”

Loki gazes into Thor’s left eye. Blue. A brilliant ocean of affection Loki wants to drown in.

“Fuck,” Loki giggles, hysterical. Limbs quivering. “We’re—I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We’re so fucked, Thor.”

Thor cups Loki’s neck, tracing the string of hickies above Loki’s collarbone. Loki leans into Thor’s touch. Squeezes his eyes shut.

“I won’t let him lay a fucking finger on you, Loki,” Thor swears. “You’re mine.”

Under Thor’s thumb, Loki’s bruises ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one... I don't know. It's been sitting for too many days unfinished. That's never good. You start to hate your writing if you let it simmer too long. Still, parent(s) discovering an incestuous relationship is a solid source of whump, imo.


	11. Hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor Whump, Kid Thor (Marvel), Kid Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Imprisonment, Hypothermia, Fantastic Racism
> 
> Sequel to [Kidnapped](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023731/chapters/37911716).

_Clickclickclickclickclick_

Teeth chattering.

_Einherjar scattered. Blackened limbs and faces beneath jagged, disintegrated armor._

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

_Ice nettles fountaining from Fulla’s gaping mouth._

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

Rhythmic shivers chase down Thor’s spin.

Fingers and feet absent. Thor’s eyelids feel heavy.

Everything slow. Cold.

Eyelashes caked with translucent icicles. Hours ago, Thor’s frightened tears froze.

Faces haunt him, but the fear does not return. Asleep.

Thor wishes he could fall asleep.

Easier.

He can’t. Not while his shivers wrack his body. Not while his teeth violently shatter.

Itching—belated and dulled—along the back of Thor’s neck alerts him to another presence in the cell. His numb mind attempts to entice Thor’s survival instincts. Flood Thor’s body with coiled tension. And it can’t. Thor blinks, gaze drifting sluggishly about the space.

Meets a pair of crimson eyes.

_Blood staining the dirt around the corpses._

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

Thor’s never seen a baby Frost Giant. He imagined they were big—bigger than Æsir toddlers. Scary. Ugly.

But this one isn’t. Small, round face tilted. Tiny body piled in furs.

They have hair, too—choppy, ink-black curls.

Thor blinks. Blinks again.

Suddenly, the toddler’s in front of him, hand outstretched.

_Frostbite…_

The subdued warning arrives late.

They pat Thor’s face. Squeeze his nose.

Their fingers feel warm.

“No blue?”

Thor blinks. Shivers.

_Clickclickclickclickclick_

They poke Thor’s shifting chin. Hard.

“Pink!” they squeal, delighted. Smile lightening their vibrant eyes.

Thor’s eyes slip closed.

Heartbeat quiet. Weak.

Breathing shallow.

Hands cradle Thor’s jaw. “Sleepy?”

Whispered lullabies, trapped in the howling, monstrous wind.

Brush of seiðr.

_Mother?_

“Blue,” coos the toddler. “You better. No more pink.”

Warmth suffuses Thor's insides. Pools in his belly.

His eyes flutter open.

The cell’s brighter. Thor notices different blue pigmentations coloring the toddler’s cheeks. The shades of black in a single stone slab.

“You—” Thor chokes.

_Dead bodies. They all died. Black faces. Frostbitten. Ice tearing through Fulla’s throat. Sprouting from her neck._

_No! No!_

Thor emits a sound—a cross between a gurgle and a scream. Horror. Nausea.

Soft fur clutched in his grasp. He tugs, wanting it closer.

“I want my mother,” he gasps. Begs. Eyes wet. He snorts up the snots trickling out his nose. “I want my mother. I want my mother.”

Arms encircle part of Thor’s torso. “No cry.”

Thor hiccups into the fur. Draws the Frost Giant toddler tighter against his chest, fingers clawing over their shoulders.

That’s when Thor sees: his flesh is blue.

_Blue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based a bit on those posts that were circulating speculating that Loki changed Thor into a Frost Giant. Only, instead of them being the same age I made Loki itty-bitty. Poor Thor. I can't imagine he reacts well to realizing what he's become.


	12. Electrocution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor Whump, Alternate Universe - Human, Kid Thor (Marvel), Kid Loki (Marvel), Electrocution, Body Horror

“You gonna do it, or not?”

“I’m gonna!”

“Are you chicken?”

“I’m not chicken! Shut up, Loki!”

Thor grips the fork tighter, resisting the urge to chuck it at his brother, and mustering the courage to do _it_. Stick the fork in the electrical socket.

Loki sang a different tune when Thor, bored of watching Loki read and disinterested in joining their mother gardening in the backyard, suggested the experiment.

“That’s stupid, Thor. You could die,” he said.

“But I’m bored!”

Loki decided that he would oversee, prepared to dial 9-1-1.

He tosses the landline between his hands, draped backward over the arm of their threadbare couch. He releases a longsuffering sigh.

“Fine!” Thor snaps. “I’m doing it now. Are you watching?”

“With bated breath,” Loki confirms.

Thor crouches. His palm feels clammy.

He sticks the fork in.

Thor vibrates with the shock.

He doesn’t experience pain, but he can’t decide whether he’s too hot or too cold. Both?

He tastes his teeth.

Flames sputter forth from the socket. Hissing. Spitting.

The fork’s dangling from Thor’s fingers by melted flesh.

“Thor! Fuck!” Loki’s stumbling off the couch.

It’s distressing, the fork. Makes Thor want to puke.

He wipes his hand on his shirt.

It hurts. It burns through his shirt, burns Thor’s skin just below his ribs. He gasps, tears welling up. He can’t pull his hand away. It’s fused with the mangled mess of fabric and stomach.

The acrid smell wafts upward.

“Oh, fuck,” Loki gags.

Thor can’t quite breathe.

The wall behind the growing fire scorches black.

“Mom!” Loki screams. Faintly, Thor hears the phone line ringing out.

He hears Frigga sprinting into their house.

Smoke rises, twisting through the living room. The alarm senses it, blaring to the tempo of Thor’s heart pounding.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and very much not sweet. Like, wow. My skin's crawling. I hope you all experience a similar reaction otherwise I have not done my job!
> 
> This is based on someone's actual experience electrocuting themselves by sticking a fork in an electrical socket that I read on Quora.


	13. "Stay."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Gamora and Nebula Whump, Kid Gamora (Marvel), Kid Nebula (Marvel), Medical Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will reorganize chapters as I'm able to catch up with the ones I'm behind on. This is Day 13: "Stay." and it will be the thirteenth chapter someday... *gazes into the distance*

Nebula’s very little. Untested. Weak compared to Gamora. Her arm gives out, and Gamora’s blade nicks Nebula’s throat.

Gamora wins.

Against the others, she loses often enough. They’re bigger—Cull especially. She knows what happens next.

It’s not Gamora. Not this time. Never again.

“You disappoint me, Nebula,” Thanos rumbles, rising. Towering over them.

“I’m sorry,” Nebula sobs. “I’ll do better, father! I will!”

Thanos nods. “You will.” He holds a hand out. “Come, Nebula. Your arm is too fragile. We’ll fix it.”

Nebula scrubs away tears. Places her hand in Thanos’ palm.

They exit the arena.

Gamora trails them, mindless. Stomach churning.

In the lab, Thanos oversees the attendant. The alien lays out instruments. An artificial arm. Adjusts the medical laser beside the operating table.

Straps Nebula to the table.

The laser buzzes, coming alive.

Nebula’s wild, frightened eyes dart around the room. She notices Gamora, hovering in the open doorway.

“Stay.”

Gamora blinks. None of their other siblings would want her to bear witness.

She would not have followed their other siblings, either.

Gamora nods.

Thanos does not command her to leave. He watches.

Watches the attendant direct the laser, slicing through Nebula’s shoulder.

Nebula releases a blood-curdling scream, tries to thrash against the restraints.

Flesh burns, awful, acrid odor permeating the lab. Gamora holds her breath.

Hums a soft tune, a lullaby her father—her other father—once sang. Soothing.

Nebula whimpers. Cranes her neck. To listen?

Horrifying. It’s horrifying to watch. To smell. To hear.

But it’s not Gamora. Not this time. Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I hurt myself, too!


	14. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki Whump, Psychological Torture, Torture, Needles, Force-Feeding, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I've been distracted by sudden bursts of inspiration for other fics, so I'm not even trying to finish these by Wednesday. New goal is to finish them before the end of the year XD

_“I’ll hunt the monsters down a slay them all.”_

_Mjölnir compresses Loki’s chest._

_Unable to breathe._

_Thor grins._

Childhood smile. Soft. Too many teeth—

_“I’ll hunt you down and slay you Loki,” Thor vows._

_Disgust. Eyes shuttered and disgusted._

Imagined—

_Disgust. Eyes shuttered and disgusted._

_Hateful. Disgusted and hateful._

_Not brothers. Not brothers._

_“Monster!”_

_Thor swings Mjölnir. Strikes Loki._

_Loki falls._

No, it didn’t—

_Thor swings Mjölnir. Strikes Loki._

_“Monster!”_

_Loki falls._

_“Father!”_

_Momentum arrested. Suspended above the void._

_Odin stares down at him, vast and regal._

_Æsir._

_Godlike._

_“Laufey’s son. I have no use for you.”_

_The abyss swallows Loki._

_Burning eyes. Burning nose. Burning tongue._

Needles.

Stinging. Piercing.

Loki’s left eye.

Loki’s right nostril.

Glass needles reflecting Loki’s bruised, puffy face. Fractured pieces. Deformed. Disgusting.

_Thor’s disgusted face._

“Good. Good, Loki,” Ebony Maw praises.

Loki plunges into darkness.

* * *

A scream tears through Loki’s raw throat before he’s conscious.

Loki’s legs. Fractured bones shredding leg tissue. Jostled by Maw’s helpers tossing Loki into his cell.

Scents—sour and copper—overwhelm Loki’s senses.

Loki glances down. Catches a glimpse of red, pink, white. Sinew. Torn ligaments.

No moving.

Pain.

Loki relaxes, cheek resting in the warm pool of piss and congealed blood and puss.

“Brother,” Loki gasps. Pleads.

_“Monster!”_

Thor did not know. He did not.

_No, he did not. Better. Otherwise, he would come._

Want—

_“I’ll hunt the monsters down a slay them all.”_

Time. Sense of time. Past event. How long ago?

_Frost Giants fly, skulls pulverized._

“Food time.”

Loki blinks. Jolts, surprised response delayed. Agony shoots through Loki’s legs. He whimpers.

Green. Green hands.

Gamora maneuvers Loki onto his back.

Agony. More agony. Always.

Metal glints, strapped to Gamora’s calf.

Suffering. It’s all Loki knows. Is.

“Kill me.”

Gamora freezes.

Loki cannot see her face. The light above her—bright and blinding—obscures her features in deep, black shadows.

Her fingers twitch. Hover beside her blade.

Encircle Loki’s lips, squeezing, forcing them open. Broth drips between Loki gnashed teeth. Eight spoonfuls, pooling, unconsumed.

Gamora massages Loki’s throat.

Loki swallows. Must swallow. Chokes each time.

* * *

Awake, unmoving, Loki listens.

Bones knitting.

Flesh growing.

Nutrients—just barely enough—providing for his body’s vital functions.

Healing. Surviving. To be mutilated all over again.

Loki should be used to betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early stages of Loki's torture, I imagine. Maw's still ironing out a few bugs. Loki's minds still resisting.
> 
> I HATE NEEDLES!!! Thanks, IW, for making Maw that much fucking horrifying for me to write!


	15. Manhandling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Rocket Whump, Medical Experimentation, First Moments of Sapience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking midterms, my dudes. New goal: complete all Whumptober prompts by the end of the month. I think I can! I think I can!

_Bright._

_So much. Too much_

_Where? How?_

_Who?_

Grasping for answers, they find nothing. Nothing.

Pricking over their eye. Sharp. Over and over.

They shy away from the pain.

“It’s awake.”

“Hold it.”

_It? It._

Weight pressing on their throat. Tight. Restricting.

_Get away! Get away!_

They thrash. The weight grows heavier.

“Feisty.” The weight quakes in time with a rumbling noise above them. “Think it knows what we’re saying yet?”

“Might. Brain’s back in one piece.”

Light glints across twin artificial claws, fisted in the grip of a shrouded creature.

The claws close. Snapping.

Thread shimmering.

“Get it off the table. Take it back to the cage.”

Brightness passes overhead. Light and shadow. Light and shadow.

Stomach trying to crawl out their mouth.

_Get away! Away!_

Their limbs stiff

Jaw stiff.

But it opens.

And their teeth sink into flesh.

“Fuck!”

Ripped free. Shaken. Tumbling. Into the cage.

_Clang!_

“Fucking rodent!”

Spittle dampens their bare skin.

Sneering face.

That disappears.

Bare enclosure mirroring the stark emptiness of their mind.

They scratch the padding. Stuffing flooding the floor.

Filling the space.

* * *

He learns. A shit-ton.

That he’s not an ‘it’. Not a ‘fucking rodent’.

He blows the fucking lab up with a modified rocket launcher.

That’s how he picks his name.

Grinning. With ash between his teeth.

Scars beneath his regrown fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Rocket feelings, ok? Ok.


	16. Bedridden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki; Loki and Thor Whump, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, Character Death

Sunlight streams through the windows of the royal chambers. Birds twitter across Asgardia, heralding a beautiful morning.

Loki blinks against the brightness, tempted to turn and curl into the heat of Thor’s chest, presently pressed to Loki’s back.

Alas, duty calls.

Careful not to disturb Thor’s slumber, Loki lifts Thor’s arm wound around his middle and slides towards the edge of the bed, ignoring the ache of age weighing down his limbs.

Thor’s fingers encircle Loki’s wrist.

Loki glances over his shoulder. Thor’s eyes are open, full of apprehension. Warning.

Prophecy, a gift Thor inherited from Frigga.

Thor declined gradually. At first, he exercised less. His court appearances were shorter. He sat more, dozing by the fire, a great-grandbaby perched on his knee.

Only a month ago did he request Loki assume his duties in addition to Loki’s own. Thor no longer could muster the strength to rise from their bed.

Loki’s heart seizes, studying Thor’s expression. He forces a soft smile and kisses Thor’s cheek. “One moment. I will return,” he promises, slipping from the mattress.

Einherjar stand sentinel outside their chambers. Loki addresses the lad he can see through one partially opened door.

“Inform Princess Leikny that she is responsible for all monarchical duties today.”

The Einherjar bows. “Right away, Your Majesty.”

Loki closes the door.

Soft snores come from their bed. Loki disappears into the washroom.

Overcome, he leans against the door, knees quaking and throat tight. He smothers a scream with the palm of his hand.

One beat. Two.

Loki straightens and moves to putter around the room, relieving himself and cleaning his face and teeth above the washbasin. He lingers, combing out his dark grey tresses. Pointless though the task may be, he appreciates the extra minutes to fortify his emotions.

Made presentable, he returns to their bed, carrying the comb with him.

The mattress dips under Loki’s weight. Thor wakes, tired gaze raking over him.

Loki holds the comb up, half-smiling. “Shall I?”

“Aye,” Thor consents, the word a mere whispered breath.

Thor’s white hair fans out over Loki’s lap, threads of starlight. Loki brushes, half paying attention to the task, half memorizing the wrinkled plains of Thor’s face.

Every perfect day Loki ever lived, he saw this face. He knows it better than Thor himself, and yet anxiety grips him. Lodges in his throat. He cannot bear forgetting, so he must ensure he will not.

“You’re shaking,” Thor murmurs.

Loki startles. Swallows.

“I’ll read to you,” he announces, tossing the comb to the foot of the bed.

“Don’t leave again,” Thor pleads, jostling his head out of Loki’s lap.

Loki bends forward, nosing along Thor’s temple. He nibbles Thor’s ear. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’ve a second library kept always within reach.”

He settles against the headboard with his chosen tome, propped up by plush pillows. Thor remains recumbent. His palm rests on Loki’s knee, fingers tracing the boney joint.

It’s a suitable distraction, the world within the book. _Lord of the Rings_ , a Midgardian tale gifted to Loki by Peter Parker and one of Thor’s favorites. They neither of them have read it centuries. The details have blurred.

Loki voices each character, a practice adopted from Frigga for the purposes of reading to his children, though his abilities permit him to alter his vocal cords for genuinely varied voices.

Thor pets Loki’s legs, hand drifting between mid-thigh and calf, a warm presence. He radiates contentment, nose digging into Loki’s hip.

Loki manages Gandalf’s death, knowing the wizard returns, but he falters with Boromir. Neat rows of black ink, spelling out the demise of a man.

Thor stills.

Morning’s climbed into afternoon, and now the sun sinks as evening draws near.

Loki breathes deep the air drifting through their open windows. He closes the book, soft thump breaking the relative quiet.

“What do you plan to do?”

Loki stares ahead. “I—” Tears burn behind Loki’s eyes. He covers his face with his hands.

“I despise you for doing this to me.”

“Apologies, brother,” Thor rumbles. “But I could not do it a fifth time.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki snaps. “I’ve been terribly cruel.”

“Loki,” Thor soothes. “I did not say that.”

Sobs wrack Loki. He folds inward.

Thor fists Loki’s tunic, tugging uselessly. Loki turns and buries himself against Thor’s chest.

“I am sorry.” He feels the vibration of Thor’s apology.

Guilt. Damn guilt.

Thor deserves peace.

Loki drags himself up Thor’s body, sealing their lips together. He tastes the salt water of his tears. They kiss, clumsy and passionate and desperate.

Their last.

Thor shifts away, panting. Loki peppers kisses along his jaw and neck. "I love you, brother."

“And I you,” Thor sighs.

“Do you remember the goat?” Loki asks, lips hovering beside Thor’s pulse point.

Thor chuckles.

“Pompous Lord Otr. I maintain he deserved humiliation, no matter Odin’s opinion. And you were so brilliant to think of the goat. He guided it into the banquet hall with that fur collar around its neck. Beautiful garment, a shame it chewed it apart.”

Loki continues reminiscing, recounting their shared tales of mischief. Thor traces Loki’s spine.

Then, he stops.

Loki reaches, threading their fingers together.

The sun’s setting, flooding their room with a warm glow.

Thor’s breathing turns shallow and slow. He barely squeezes Loki’s hand.

Loki’s words flow unceasingly.

The last of the light fades from their chambers. The sun has set. Thor’s heart does not beat again.

Loki’s thunders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *distant screaming*
> 
> Well, here's my headcanon for how Thor fucking dies. I hurt myself bad with this one and I'm mad at myself. I need to lie down.


	17. Drugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki Whump, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sakaar (Marvel), Dubious Consent, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Sex for Favors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scroll down to end notes for specifics about the dubious consent warning.
> 
> Happy birthday [Loxxxlay](http://loxxxlay.tumblr.com/)! I know this isn't Grandthorki or Frostmaster, but I hope this tiny drabble falls on the fringes of your interests! XP

_“I can be whatever you desire.”_

It’s always the last thing he remembers clearly. His offer. Every day extended to a new, more influential member of the Grandmaster’s court.

Loki’s drug concoction ensures he retains his malleability—his ability to change shape, for many courtiers the entire draw of fucking him. It leaves him open to suggestion, but disconnected. Drifting.

Otherwise, Loki would be sick. Used. Uncomfortable with his flesh being manipulated on another’s whim.

Worse still, deed done, he would be left alone. Aware.

Loki despises the company of his own mind, never more so than now.

Now that Thor is undoubtedly dead.

Cold brushing Loki’s hip. River water.

Part of Loki’s mind rebels, reminding Loki that some creature’s chilled appendages created that sensation.

The thought floats downstream.

Loki’s a fish. Scales instead of flesh.

Flipped. Face submerged in crystalline waters. Breathing. Coolness washing over his cheeks. Washing away sweat.

Pressure. Pressure low down Loki’s spine.

Their heavy breaths beat Loki’s eardrum.

_You’re… being fucked. Someone’s whore—_

They’re sparring. Both panting. Winter air nipping Loki’s face and exposed chest.

Hand-to-hand sparring. Loki does not match Thor’s strength, and Thor pins him. Panting against Loki’s ear.

Warmth surrounding Loki. Protecting Loki. Thor always protected him.

_Past tense?_

Thor’s heart beats in time with Loki’s. Wild.

_“I didn’t hurt you, brother?”_

Loki wants to burrow into Thor’s golden affection. Wants to welcome Thor’s comfort.

But he can’t. Can’t. He knows he can’t. But why?

_Can’t remember why…_

Too distant. Shivering in the river. The river that’s pounding him. Flooding him.

_“No, brother. I hurt myself.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write sex. I don't write dubcon. Drugs... I don't know how to do this. *hides face*
> 
> *peeks through fingers* I hope it's OK!
> 
> Dubious Consent Warning: Loki offers sex to influential members of the Grandmaster's court. He takes the drugs himself. But he finds it all deeply uncomfortable and he's only doing these things to survive and not think. Therefore, dubious consent.


	18. Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki and Thor Whump, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Non-Graphic Violence, Imprisonment, Injury, Castration, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting

Thor’s boot pins Lord Vafthrudnir’s neck. He wrenches his war hammer from his collapsed skull.

Einherjar march past, directing Jötnar servants.

“Halt!” Thor commands. The line stops, stumbling. “Where is my brother? Who among you know?” Thor studies the Jötnar. A young, filthy lad, half hidden behind a buxom chambermaid, shifts. “You.” Thor points.

The boy’s eyes cut between Thor’s face, his war hammer, and the surrounding warriors. “I—I would bring the cell guards their meals.”

“Lead me to him. Now.”

The dungeons are cold, dark, and damp, mirroring Jotunheim’s loathsome climate.

Thor’s throat tightens, imagining Loki held hostage here. Months of frigid imprisonment.

“Here.” The boy gestures towards a heavy, wooden door.

“Stand aside.”

Thor strikes the locks with his war hammer, snapping the brittle metal. He shoves into the cell.

Cowering in the corner, a pale, naked, emaciated figure. Bright red lashes crisscross his flesh.

“Loki.”

Loki mewls, shrinking back. His chains clink, boney legs searching for purchase, revealing Loki’s crotch. Revealing Lord Vafthrudnir’s cruelest punishment.

Fury shakes Thor’s frame.

Loki stares, eyes wild, shadows beneath them. He shakes his head. “You’re not. No, no, no, no—”

“Loki.” Thor staggers forward, dropping to his knees, crawling the remaining distance. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“No, you—”

Thor tugs Loki close, cradling him against his chest. “I’m here. You’re safe. No one will ever touch you again,” Thor swears, choking around sobs. “Norns, Loki. Brother. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I did not come fast enough.”

Loki shivers in Thor’s arms, fingers skimming over his blood-crusted armor, brushing through Thor’s beard. “Brother.” Loki relaxes.

Thor sheds his cloak, swaddling Loki’s nude, injured body.

“Where is Lord Vafthrudnir?”

“Dead,” Thor growls. “Mjölnir crushed the traitor’s skull.” He squeezes Loki. “If I had known—”

“I executed Lord Vafthrudnir’s son, Im. Progeny for progeny.” Loki’s nails bite Thor’s neck. “I am alive to piss on his corpse. I did not imagine Odin would send anyone to salvage _his_ failed bid for Jotunheim’s throne. I thought I would die,” he admits, hoarse.

Thor buries his nose in Loki’s hair, inhaling Loki’s scent. He exhales, quivering breath fanning across Loki’s brow.

“Father did not send me. I marched on Utgard against his orders. I refused to wait while he weighed ownership of ‘sacred’ dirt and rocks and snow against your life.” Thor swallows. “I could not abandon you.”

“The Chasm of Ancient Winters. Lord Vafthrudnir demanded annexed lands for my freedom?” Loki chuckles, humorless. “I suppose I should be flattered. Laufey’s bastard—the False King—worth such a ransom.”

Thor draws back. Matted black curls obscure Loki’s gaunt face. Thor tilts his chin up.

Loki meets Thor’s gaze, tears spilling over hollow cheeks. “He would have let me rot,” Loki gasps. “You should have—”

“No,” Thor insists, bringing their foreheads together. “No, brother.”

Loki cries, wounded sounds echoing within the cell.

Thor’s heart weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired a bit by [this Thorki art](http://rollina-golubaja.tumblr.com/post/41445832225/thorloki-too-late-by-logosles) that crossed my dashboard. I'm not sure this captured the emotions that made me feel. Like, holy shit! Amazing art!


	19. Harsh Climate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki and Thor Whump, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Guilt

Loki avoids Midgardians. He hides at the New Avengers Facility or in the compound where the surviving Æsir dwell, venturing out only when accompanied by the Avengers, the Guardians, or Thor.

Loki doesn’t fear the Midgardians' wrath—that he is their superior is a fact of nature—but he knows not to test _his_ patience.

Their glares.

Their insults.

Their refusal to remove themselves from Loki’s path.

Five weeks after Thanos’ defeat, Loki, searching for suitable potion ingredients, was blocked from entering the herb aisle by a wide man. Loki attempted to reason. It did not work.

He lifted the man and deposited him behind him.

Law enforcement officers were summoned.

He’s been spat upon.

He’s had garbage hurled at him.

He’s been bombarded with the faces of people his invasion killed.

“They would have broken,” Loki mutters. “Survival means everything, especially to mortals.”

Thor does not respond.

* * *

Quill orders the pizzas. Loki remains outside, entering the establishment after their meal’s ready, never allowing the staff an opportunity to deny them service.

Loki eats among the Guardians of the Galaxy, ignoring hostile expressions.

Rocket slumps in his chair. Burps. “I need to piss.” He hops up, padding towards the bathrooms.

“You could come with us,” Gamora offers suddenly. “When we head back to the Andromeda Galaxy.” She picks at her fourth slice of pizza.

Loki looks away from Groot’s game, raising his eyebrows. “You find these villain-sitting jobs so exciting you wish to—”

“Music sucks now,” Quill interrupts, frowning at a handheld music device, headphones in. “It’s just the same words repeated over and over.”

“I am Groot,” Groot snarls at the ‘game over’ text.

“I have pinned the ball! I have won, as I won at all things!” Drax hollers. Mantis brays. Two patrons switch tables, distancing themselves from the loud fools.

“We’re going to be dismantling the last of Thanos’ cult.” Gamora shrugs. “And everyone here judges you for what you did for Thanos. I know what that’s like, and I wouldn’t want to live surrounded by it. You can’t move on that way.” She tugs a pepperoni slice, melted cheese stretching.

Loki stares down at his plate, empty save for a small pile of olives.

Gamora’s offer appeals to Loki, but…

_Thor._

Thor wants Loki on Midgard. He needs Loki to be his advisor.

Thor panics every time he cannot locate Loki. He suffers nightmares about Loki’s deaths. Night after night.

Abandoning Thor might destroy him. Destroy them.

_Might._

“How soon can we leave?”

Loki is _certain_ he cannot live in these conditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harsh climates are very difficult for people to live in.
> 
> Obviously I stretched the interpretation of this prompt a bit ;) If you want to, you can imagine it's temporary and that Loki will return to Thor. That's what I do.


	20. Friendly Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki; Thor and Loki Whump, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) - Freeform, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Pregnant Loki (Marvel), Choking, Unborn Child Death, Guilt

“Brother, I am present, as well.”

Thor’s lips lift from the swell of Loki’s belly.

“Indeed, sister.”

Thor crawls closer, hovering above her. Their noses brush. Loki’s hands bracket Thor’s face.

Fondness swells in Thor’s breast. “Love of my life. Mother of my child.”

“Fool.”

Thor kisses Loki. Pours his devotion into it.

The _Statesman_ hums beneath them, journeying through infinite space towards Midgard.

* * *

_“Loki—Brother, please! Go with the Valkyrie.”_

_“Thor, I cannot. I cannot. I—I am responsible—”_

* * *

Scorch marks decorate the hull. Corpses litter the deck. Burned.

One burn looks like another. Thor cannot tell whether the Power Stone caused them, or his lightning.

The lightning that forked. Ricocheted. Mutilated the Æsir who fought beside Thor.

Thor’s skull cracks against the metal floor. Again, and again.

Head throbbing. Ears ringing.

“Thanos! Stop! I will give you what you want!”

Thanos’ hand flexes, squeezing Thor’s neck. He turns, and Thor feels queasy being carried. Limp.

“Yes, you will,” Thanos agrees.

Thor’s vision swims into focus. Loki stands defenseless—pregnant, therefore without armor—surrounded by Thanos’ generals. The Black Order.

“No, Loki—”

Thanos’ thumb applies pressure to Thor’s throat.

Loki’s eyes shine. Tearful. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouths, raising his arm.

Blue light bathes the deck, emanating from the Tesseract nestled in Loki’s palm.

“Maw.”

Thanos’ lanky general steps forward, steepled fingers separating. He plucks the Tesseract from Loki’s grasp. Loki shrinks back, hands protectively cradling his stomach. Their baby.

“Father,” the general sinks to one knee before Thanos.

Thor drops. Attempts to rise. Debris encases him. Gags him.

Thanos claims the Tesseract.

Electricity dances across Thor’s bloody, bruised knuckles, but he cannot use it. Loki is right there. He would hurt him—hurt them: Loki and their baby. Burn them. Disintegrate them, as he did his subjects.

Thor’s heart hammers.

Thanos crushes the Tesseract’s casing. Pieces scatter amid the destruction.

“My Humble personage bows before your grandeur,” the general adulates. “No other being has ever had the might, nay, the nobility to wield not one, but two, Infinity Stones. The Universe lies within your grasp. Death trembles in anticipation of your glorious victory and tribute.”

The Space Stone glows. Blazes.

_Ting!_

It snaps into the Infinity Gauntlet.

Thanos’ stare lands on Loki. “You failed me,” he states, matter-of-fact.

Loki swallows. Glances at Thor.

_Ready yourself._

Thor’s brow furrows.

Phantom fingers brush Thor’s cheek.

_Loki!_

Loki’s seiðr thrums in the stale, smoky air.

“All mighty Thanos.” Loki’s illusion bows his head. Inhales deeply. “Two Infinity Stones reside on Midgard.”

Thor strains within his bonds. The debris crumples to the ground, tinged seiðr-green. Silent.

“Allow me, Son of Odin, Rightful King of Asgard, to prove my undying loyalty. To guide and shield your children among the mortals.”

Loki tugs Thor’s up. Thor tosses an arm around Loki, rests a hand on Loki’s hip. Clings tight.

Moves.

Tries to move.

Blue light swirls around their ankles. Pins their feet.

_Visible. Thanos knew—_

Loki embraces Thor. Shaking.

“I have no patience for the pageantry of the Æsir,” Thanos rumbles. “I vowed there would be nowhere you could hide. You will pay the price for your failure.”

“I love you.” Loki’s words gust against Thor’s ear. Thor turns, bumping noses.

Thanos wraps his gauntleted hand around Loki’s neck, wrenching him from Thor’s grasp. Squeezes.

Loki’s feet dangle over Thor’s head. Kick.

He gasps. Useless.

_Move! Move! Norns, move!_

The Space Stone affixes Thor to the spot.

“No!” Thor screams.

It echoes.

_No! No! No!_

Loki gurgles. His fingers curl and tremble against Thanos’ hand.

Thunder rolls in Thor’s ears.

Violet sparks discharge. Coil around Loki and Thanos. Arc across the hull.

Zinging. Groaning.

The _Statesman_ explodes.

* * *

“We found no other survivors.”

_No survivors. No survivors._

_Burnt corpses drifting in the void._

_Except for Thor._

“I killed them,” Thor exhales. “I killed them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I went for the cheap shot. And yes, I keep tormenting Thor by having him kill his own people/loved ones. It's effective. This has actually been my headcanon for why Thor didn't cream Thanos outright. When he tried he ended up hurting others and that threw him off his rhythm (little lighthearted reference there for you all).
> 
> Or did I go for the cheap shot? *wiggles eyebrows* There's a hint in the text. One tiny hint. Anyway, there will be a sequel. During Whumptober. Don't expect happy, but I promise it's not just Thor wallowing ;)


	21. Self-sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Odin Whump, Fantastic Racism, Implied/Referenced Warprize!Bestla, Abusive Parents, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Character Death, Beheading

“Betraying your sovereign. Consorting with the enemy. Undermining the security of Asgard’s borders. Orchestrating events that led to the death of Lady Bestla, at the hands of the savage Frost Giants of Jotunheim. Slandering the Crown.”

Ve’s eyes narrow, conveying the snarl hidden beneath the muzzle.

Silence descends over the court, waiting with bated breath. Entertained.

Princes of Asgard are not often accused of high treason.

Odin stands at the base of the dais, observing his younger brother’s sentencing. Back rigid. Throat tight.

In his peripheral vision, Cul shifts the executioner’s axe, thrilled at the prospect of using it on Ve.

Their treacherous brother. Responsible for their mother’s demise.

Further loss tastes rancid on Odin’s tongue.

Beside Odin, Vili’s breaths are uneven.

“My son,” Bor rumbles. “My son disowns me. Ungrateful. He disparages the gift of an Æsir form. Claims I imprisoned my Lady Bestla within her flesh. Claims he liberated her, and that I hunted her down and slaughtered her.” Bor sighs. “Conceals the barbarism of his allies, the Frost Giants, who murder even their purest sister for her association with Asgard. With me.”

Courtiers murmur, displeased with their prince’s lies and alliances.

Ve’s glare blazes.

Bor bangs Gungnir, wordlessly demanding quiet.

“Ve, Son of No One, I sentence you to death.”

Odin’s stomach sinks. He clenches his fists. Unclenches them.

_Maintain appearances—the appearance of composure in the face of grief._

“In honor of your mother’s memory, your death will not reflect the gravity of your crimes. She would not wish you to suffer.”

Cul hefts the axe.

“Hold,” Bor commands. “Vili.”

Vili tenses. “Your Majesty,” he intones.

“You will deliver the killing blow.”

Vili’s expression fractures. “I—Yes, Your Majesty.”

Sympathy settles—a burdensome weight—across Odin’s shoulders. Vili is young, not yet of the age of majority. Impressionable. Vulnerable.

Cul passes him the axe, disappointed frown schooled.

Vili walks towards Ve, steps echoing around the throne room.

Ve nods, encouraging.

Black spots spark in Odin’s vision. He forces himself to breathe.

Vili raises the axe.

“Steady.” Cul advises. “Keep it balanced or you’ll have to hack at the neck, over and over.”

Nervousness seizes Vili’s limbs.

_Get it done. Deliver father’s justice and be done with it._

It will never be done, Odin knows. Vili will be forever changed.

_It must be done._

Vili lowers the axe. Jaw locked, defiant.

Ice in Odin’s blood. Dread.

Losing two brothers would break him.

“I—”

“Norns’ tits!” Odin booms, stomping forward. “I have no patience for this!” He yanks the axe from Vili’s surprised, loose grip.

Lines up the blade for a single, quick, painless blow.

Odin swings.

Ve's head rocks, bloody stump staining the golden floor. His body slumps. Empty, decapitated corpse.

Hair spills across Ve’s white cheek.

_Numbness? Nothingness?_

He turns from his dead brother. The brother he executed. Gazes towards Hlidskjalf.

Bor’s furious eyes pierce Odin. Cul grins—all teeth—visualizing the consequences for Odin’s disobedience.

Vili stares at Odin, facing away from Bor. Eyes glassy. Tearful. Vacant. ‘How could you?’ he mouths.

Cold steal barricades Odin’s heart.

_Someone had to._

* * *

Decades later, the same words justify the mace in Cul’s skull. The poison in Vili’s goblet.

Odin sacrifices anything—everything—for Asgard.

Kings must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's unclear, I'm trying to convey the way Odin "lost" or "sacrificed" himself and everything he cared about to survive and to protect Vili (at first), and later Asgard. Not an excuse so much as a rumination on how Odin might have become who we see in the films. I hope people were thinking about the ways that Loki's trial differ from Ve's. The differences were very much intentional and meant to convey aspects of Odin's character vs. the cruelty of Odin's father.
> 
> Also, to be very clear: Bor's lying. Bestla was not happy to be changed into an Asgardian. I tried to convey that by making him sound super racist and by /not/ making her queen. She's got a title that could be for a concubine. 
> 
> It's okay if this didn't make you feel bad for Odin. It was an experiment.


	22. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Loki Whump, Alternate Universe - Human, Near Death Experiences, The Ocean is a Terrifying Death Trap, Burn the Ocean with Fire

Loki wades out past the breakers. The surf’s calm overall, disturbed by occasional imposing crests. He swims to Thor and his friends without incident, feet churning beneath the waves to stay afloat.

Thor grimaces. Fails to hide it. “Hey, Lo. Should you be out this far?”

“Should you?” Loki counters.

“Let him do what he wants, Thor,” Sif sighs. “He always does anyway.”

“Whatever.” Thor shrugs. “Don’t drown. Mom will kill me.”

Loki sticks out his tongue.

Thor, Sif, Fandral, and Hogun talk about classes, sports, classmates... Conversations Loki cannot join.

Chosen on purpose, he’s sure.

Forming waves drift past them, rocking them.

_Boring. Bored. Boring. Boring._

He floats a little longer to spite Thor, but it proves too dull. He brought a book to read, tucked in their bag. He turns. Paddles several feet, eyeing the expanse of yellow, sun-drenched beach.

Rumbling—a stampede—behind Loki.

Shadow shrouds him.

Whitewater cascades over his head.

The wave descends. Slams into Loki. Submerges him.

He tumbles. Flips. Thrashes, attempting to escape, but the current batters him down.

Down. Down. Down.

His lungs burn, unprepared for the sudden lack of oxygen.

_Going to die. Going to die._

Loki surfaces, gasping, heart seizing. Hammering against his ribs.

Laughter overtakes the ringing in his ears.

Red-hot fury colors his cheeks.

He nearly died, and Thor and his friends laugh?

Loki throws a glare over his shoulder. Opens his mouth, cutting remark on the tip of his tongue.

They’re not looking at him. None of them. Busy amusing each other, unaware of Loki.

Sore eyes. Matching sore lungs and a sore throat. Rubbed raw by churning salt.

Loki stumbles ashore, towards Amora reclining on her beach towel.

Knees knocking. Fragile.

Tears brimming.

Amora doesn’t spare him a glance, reapplying her pale pink lipstick. Neon green sunglass perched on her nose.

Loki collapses onto his own towel, covered in kicked-up sand.

He quivers. Distraught. Nearly drowned. Lingering chill under the skin.

And no one noticed.

Because no one cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm meh about this one. Didn't really like the prompt. So, I just wrote about my near-death experience in the ocean. It was sixth grade. We were all at the beach and my friends had waded out really far. I didn't want to be left out, so I went out after them. Man, it was boring. I headed back and that's when the wave crashed over me and I was tumbling. I thought I was going to die. But what was more traumatic is literally no one noticed. There were tons of adults there, but NO ONE noticed a kid nearly drowning. They didn't even notice a scared kid tripping past them to get to their towel.
> 
> I'm clearly still working through it! XD Hence the... extreme tags.


	23. "I can't walk."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor Whump, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Exhaustion, Headaches & Migraines, Hallucinations

Queen Shuri dispatches an aircraft to collect the Avengers.

Three weeks spent assisting South American countries yielded little positive news. Governments lack their politicians. The workforce is severely depleted. Everyone’s lost someone, either to dust or resulting fatal accidents.

Or suicide.

The same stories they’ve heard everywhere.

People believe it’s the end of the world.

 _We’d know a thing or two about that, would we not, brother?_ Loki sing-songs from the back of Thor’s mind. _They’re not far off, your Midgardians. That urban fire burnt nearly as hot as Surtur, I’m sure._

Thor’s head throbs, squeezed in an invisible vice grip.

Everything’s doubled. His eyes refuse to cooperate.

“We are approaching Wakanda,” their pilot announces. Despite their gentle tone, Thor winces.

“Thanks,” Banner responds a beat later when no one else speaks. Again, the noise exacerbates Thor’s discomfort.

 _Thanks_ , Loki parrots.

Thor throws an arm across his eyes, willing himself not to tear them both—false and real—from their sockets.

He experiences the sensation of the aircraft descending, bound for the palace landing platform. The shifting altitude momentarily disorients the impulses sent between the pain receptors and his brain, but the subtle jolt when the craft touches down knocks Thor back into an agonizing rhythm.

“Her Majesty’s waiting for us,” Natasha pads towards the exit, resolved to provide Queen Shuri with information, even disheartening information.

 _What’s the Midgardian saying? Better to rip off the Band-Aid?_ Loki offers.

Thor attempts to stand. Dizziness overwhelms him. He swallows bile.

“I can’t walk,” he admits, slumping.

 _The Mighty Thor_ , Loki mocks.

Thor releases a hysterical, breathy chuckle.

“Thor,” Steve grips Thor’s forearm. “Come on, let’s get you up.” He hoists. Thor’s leg quakes. Slides to one side. Thor collapses, ramming his back into the edge of his seat before his ass strikes the floor.

Thor roars. “I cannot walk!” Thunder punctuates his shout.

Panting, he waits.

“Nothing to say?”

The Avengers exchange glances but say nothing.

The question was not meant for them. His words came out a harsh growl, but Thor knows they’re a plea.

 _Just speak. Keep speaking_ , he begs.

Pain arcs over Thor’s brow.

Loki continues to mock him by falling silent.

The ringing in his ears builds, the only sound Thor hears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Thor is not handling his continued existence well, and I don't blame him. Poor guy... Also, I don't care what the Endgame trailer implies. Shuri wasn't dusted. Kiss my ass, MCU.


	24. Severe Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor, Frigga, and Loki Whump, Alternate Universe - Human, Cancer

Cold morning air bites Thor’s nose. He breathes in and out in a steady rhythm, feet slapping the concrete. His blood pumps, and his body feels pleasantly warm despite the chill. His body thrums after half an hour’s good run.

Thor jogs up the driveway and into the backyard, latching the gate behind him. He opens the backdoor into the laundry room. Dirty towels peek out of the hamper. He wipes the cool sweat from his neck and forehead. Overhead, he hears Loki in their shared shower, rushing water echoing along the piping.

Stepping out of the laundry room, Thor catches the smell of something burning.

“Mom?”

Frigga isn’t in the kitchen, but breakfast fixings litter the counter. Scrambled eggs—the source of the burning smell—hiss on the stove. Thor removes them from the heat. The pan’s rubber grip feels overwarm.

Thor looks around, brow furrowing. “Mom?”

Footsteps sound from the front of the house. Thor walks towards the entryway.

“Mom?”

Frigga stands by the front door, wearing her long, cotton, floral print bathrobe. She appraises Thor, shoulders tense. Confused wrinkles crease her forehead.

“Is everything—”

“Who are you?”

The words circle through Thor’s mind. They don’t compute.

Those words. From his mother’s mouth. Directed at him. Her son.

His heartbeat stutters.

“What’s going on—”

Liquid trickles down Frigga’s leg, puddling at her feet.

Urine.

Thor stops. Stops moving. Stops thinking. Stops breathing.

“Why did I just do that?” Frigga panics, quivering and inhaling shallowly. “Who are you?” she asks again.

Thor’s jaw works, but no response forms in his mind.

Upstairs, Loki finishes his shower. The noise of water traveling through the pipes cuts off.

* * *

“You’re in pain.”

“I’m not. I’m a little stiff. I’ve been stuck in this hospital far too long.”

“You look like you’re in pain. I’ll find a nurse. They should be checking on you more often. What do we pay them for?”

“I am not in pain.”

The door clicks shut behind Odin.

Frigga sighs. “He always hated feeling powerless.”

Her memory’s better, now that the brain tumor’s removed.

She sounds so worn out.

Thor’s sat by her bed in the recovery suite, holding her hand, trying to keep her fingers warm with his natural heat.

He glances at Loki. His brother leans against the window, watching the world outside. Decidedly not looking at anything or anyone in the room.

Thor purses his lips.

Loki hasn’t spoken since that morning. Hasn’t seemed fully present.

Frigga’s fingers give a faint squeeze. Thor turns back to her.

“I’m sorry I scared you, my darling. That I… forgot you.” She frowns, eyes a bit glassy. “I—”

“Mom,” Thor interrupts, shaking his head. He lifts their clasped hands and kisses her knuckles.

_It’s fine. It’s fine._

Thor smiles for her. She smiles back.

Her gaze shifts. “Loki.”

Loki jolts. His eyes flick towards Frigga. They’re red and puffy, dark bags beneath them. He swallows.

Frigga raises her other hand—the one Thor isn’t clinging to. “Loki,” she invites.

Loki shoves away from the window, moving rigidly across the room to sit in Odin’s vacated chair. He picks at the skin between his thumb and index finger.

“Please don’t mourn me while I’m here, darling.”

Loki’s expression crumples. He tips forward, burying his face against her shoulder. Sobs wrack his frame.

Thor’s stomach twists.

Frigga cards fingers through Loki’s unbrushed hair. “You need rest. You’re so tired, my darling.”

Thor shuts his eyes, listening to the beeps of the monitors and Loki’s wet gasps.

_Don’t mourn her while she’s here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a true story that my sister's semi-friend lived through. Her mom had brain cancer and they discovered that when one day she just didn't remember her own daughter.
> 
> We live in a cruel world. And I will leave you on that depressing note.


	25. Seizure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen; Thor and Loki Whump, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Seizures

The sudden distortion of his vision paralyzes Loki.

Wanda’s seiðr bursts over Loki’s breastplate. The impact hurtles Loki across the length of the sparring gym.

“Did you drop your shields?” Wanda asks, confused.

Loki sits up, shaking and disoriented. He raises his hand level with his eyes. He blinks, hard.

His index finger swells. His middle finger shrinks. His thumb grows several extra knobs.

Blinking does nothing.

“Loki?” Wanda crouches beside him, radiating concern.

Laughing outside the New Avengers Facility catches Loki’s attention. Peter and Ned stroll past the gym doors, deformed in Loki’s eyes.

Frantic, Loki whips to face Wanda. “Are you doing—”

* * *

“Can I just say, it’s still such an honor to be part of these meetings.”

“You said you had something we might want to look into, Tic Tac?” Sam prompts.

“Yeah! For about two years now, there’s been these bodies found all over the city, and—Well, uh, you see—”

Hope enters the frame behind Scott’s left shoulder. “All the corpses have been decapitated. Police have been unable to locate the heads.”

“Well, that’s disgusting.” Sam sets down his coffee.

Natasha leans forward. “Have police identified how the heads were severed?”

“It’s proving difficult,” Hope explains. “The jaggedness of the neck stumps—it resembles a bite. However, DNA tests reveal nothing.”

“Crazy thing is,” Scott interjects. “These people are all criminals. Bad guys. Gang members. Rapists. Pedophiles.”

“So, you’re thinking we’re dealing with vigilante Hannibal Lector?” Tony asks, leaning back in his seat.

“I don’t know of any human being that can swallow a person’s head whole,” Hope says.

“Good point.” Tony turns to Dr. Strange. “Know of any interdimensional horrors or magical monsters that might be loose in San Francisco?”

“Nothing I’ve noticed. I’ll survey the Bay Area when I return to the Sanctum.”

“Thor, what about you?” Bruce asks. “Could this be an alien?”

Thor frowns. “There are kinds that leave no trace. I know of none that hunt so selectively, nor alone. Loki might—”

The door bangs. Visibly agitated, Peter stumbles inside. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. But I thought—Dr. Strange is a doctor. Like, a medical doctor. He might—”

“Woah,” Tony stands, moving towards him.

Dr. Strange rises. “Is someone injured?”

Peter nods. “It’s Loki. He—”

Thor bolts out the door.

Cold dread writhing within Thor’s gut.

He throws open the gym doors, hinges snapping under the force.

“Lo—”

The sight before Thor winds him.

Loki convulses on the floor. Limbs stiff. Jerking. Jaw working.

Thor’s next to Loki in an instant, oblivious to the others in the gym.

“Loki?” Thor breathes, pleading.

Straining. Shuddering. Twitching. Faint, sour scent of urine. Loki’s unresponsive.

Thor reaches out.

“Don’t touch him, Thor. You could hurt him.”

Thor draws his hands away.

“How long?” Dr. Strange asks, kneeling beside Loki.

Ned tenses, staring down at his phone screen. “Two minutes, thirty-two seconds. Thirty-three. Thirty—”

“Thank you, Mr. Leeds. Keep timing.”

“You know what is happening to my brother,” Thor realizes, body tingling. “Fix it. Help him.”

Dr. Strange’s cloak moves, curling around Loki’s head, cushioning.

“Loki’s experiencing a seizure. I cannot fix it, but I will help him when he stops seizing.”

Thor’s gaze darts about the room, searching his friends’ expressions. Tony, Sam, Natasha, and Bruce hover near the entrance, cautious. Peter stands next to Ned, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Wanda covers her mouth and nose with her hands.

“How long?” Thor demands.

“I do not know,” Dr. Strange replies, tone calm.

Thor's nostrils flare.

He looks at Loki.

Wide-open eyes, pupils rolling back in his head.

Thor aches to cradle Loki against his chest. Offer comfort.

“He isn’t aware, Thor. Not for this part.”

Thor swallows, eyes wet.

He experiences eternity waiting, but Loki’s convulsions do subside.

Dr. Strange wastes no time. He tilts Loki’s head slightly back, bending to check Loki’s breathing. Satisfied, he meets Thor’s eyes. “Your brother weighs a lot, so I am going to instruct you, and you’re going to put him into the recovery position. First, move the arm closest to you so it’s spread straight out from Loki’s body. Next, cross the other arm over his chest, holding it against the side of his face. Finally, bend this knee and gently roll him towards you.”

Thor moves Loki into the recovery position.

Dr. Strange resettles next to Thor, adjusting Loki’s head and limbs.

“We shouldn’t be here when he wakes up,” Bruce murmurs. “I mean, he probably wouldn’t like an audience.”

“Bruce is right,” Natasha agrees.

Thor rubs light circles along Loki’s shoulder blade. “Thank you, Banner, Lady Natasha.” He hears them exit. Wanda, Peter, and Ned remain.

“Did I—Did my magic do this?” Wanda whispers.

“I cannot say for sure.” Dr. Strange pats Thor’s back. “I don’t know how useful testing will be, but I’ll make some calls.”

Thor’s eyes narrow at Wanda. “Do you think she did this to my brother?”

Wanda purses her lips.

Dr. Strange’s face hardens. “I don’t typically speculate, but I’m not certain I have a choice right now. No, Thor, I don’t. The way you’ve described Thanos’ attack, Loki certainly sustained brain trauma. Many patients develop seizures after trauma. If Loki were human, I’d have prescribed seizure medications a year ago. Standard practice.”

Thanos’ name poisons Thor’s senses. Lightning hums beneath Thor’s skin. Were the Mad Titan not already dead—

Loki stirs. Thor’s focus shifts.

“Lo—”

Dr. Strange cuts patterns into the air, golden lines sizzling in their wake. Thor’s words emerge soundless.

Loki blinks. Gasps.

“You’re safe. Do you know your name?” Dr. Strange asks.

Loki opens his mouth. Grimaces. “I—” His eyes dart. Frustrated. Panicked.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Can you tell me who the president—” Dr. Strange coughs. “I mean, can you tell me who the King of Asgard is?”

“Brother.” Thor’s heart swells. “I can’t—what’s his name—”

“It’s fine. You know who it is.”

Thor squeezes Loki’s shoulder. Loki’s gaze flick towards him. “Brother.”

“I’m here, Loki.”

Loki’s fingers claw Thor’s forearm, trying to tug himself closer. Thor glances at Dr. Strange.

“Go on,” Dr. Strange allows.

Thor scoops Loki up. Loki presses close, burying his face in Thor’s neck. He feels Loki’s tears spill.

“Thor.” Loki inhales. “What happened? Why is everything—why is my mind—”

Thor’s fingers card through Loki’s hair. “I have you. I swear everything will be well, brother.”

Loki’s nails dig into Thor’s flesh.

Thor swallows.

“I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one's long. The longest. Hints of Venom cause I'm in love (and I want Ant-Man and Wasp, and all the Avengers, to meet Eddie and them). Dubious medical knowledge. I did some research—I imagine that's obvious—but I took liberties, too. Let me know what you think.


	26. Caregiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorki; Thor Whump, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Post-Pregnant Loki (Marvel), Guilt, Character Death
> 
> Sequel to [Friendly Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023731/chapters/38335601).

“Kraglin?”

“We do not have time for small talk,” Nebula grumbles.

Rocket ignores her, padding towards the Ravager reclining against the front of a shelter.

He’s a friend, nearly. He survived.

“Hey, Rocket.” Kraglin nods. Latched onto his thumbs, a baby swings its weight, babbling. Its big blue eyes track Rocket, fat face cracking in a gummy smile.

“You have a kid?”

_Poor ankle-biter, growing up post-apocalypse._

“She ain’t mine.” He shrugs. “I’m just takin' care o’ her ‘cause her mama got dusted. She don’t have no one ‘sides me, I figure.”

Rocket glances around at the miserable people scattered throughout the streets. “So, things have been pretty shit for you, too?”

Nebula crosses her arm, releasing an exasperated sigh.

“Well, just over half my crew’s dust, and this little girl’s mama. Lost my ship to scavengers.” His eyes shift between the curly mop of dark hair atop the baby’s head and Rocket. “I don’t s’pose Quill—”

Rocket shakes his head. “They’re all…” His throat tightens.

_Gone._

Kraglin doesn’t need it spelled out for him. His face crumples. “I guess I shoulda expected that, but… it just seemed that if anyone lived through that, it woulda been Quill and the rest o’ ya.” He shrugs helplessly.

The kid gurgles, spit bubbles dripping from its lip. Its blue, blue eyes intelligent and electric. Familiar.

“Hey, who’d you say this one’s mom was?”

“Her mama? Uh, never heard o’ her species ‘fore, but she was blue and had these lines.” He gestures to his face. “She was angry, too. Kinda mean, but not in a bad way. She said somethin’ ‘bout killin’ Thanos.” Kraglin's gaze flicks to Nebula.

“Did she tell you her name?” Rocket asks, gut knotting like loose cables.

“Loki. Said somethin’ ‘bout—”

Rocket’s pulse beats in his ears.

“I know the kid’s frickin dad. He’s back on Terra.”

* * *

“Thor?”

Thor emerges from a daze, blinking against the brilliant sunset.

Rocket hovers in the open doorway, anxious. He scratches behind one ear. “Hey.”

“You’re back,” Thor croaks, voice hoarse from disuse. He does not speak unless spoken to. He feels disconnected. Adrift.

_Like the corpses of the last of the Æsir. Like Loki’s lightning-savaged corpse._

Numbness. Hollowness.

Thor killed his brother—the love of his life—and the child he carried. For what? Thanos survived. He won.

_An accident. It was an accident._

Thor could not even bid them farewell in the Æsir way.

“I, uh, found something.” He gestures for someone concealed behind the wall of Wakanda’s palace. The someone—a Xandarian man—moves into view.

“You’re Thor?” Thor manages a slight nod. “I heard ‘bout ya. From this one’s mama.” He hoists the baby perched on his hip.

Thor watches the little girl struggle in the man’s grip, fussing.

“She told all sorts o’ stories ‘bout ya to this one.”

Rocket clears his throat.

“Oh, right.” The man steps beside Thor and kneels. The little girl squirms free. Her fist collides with Thor’s knee, and she balances there, studying Thor’s features.

Thor’s breath catches. He absorbs the child’s appearance. The shape of her eyes. The thinness of her lips.

“This here’s your daughter.”

Thor’s hands tremble, body buzzing with sudden energy.

_Loki survived. Loki—_

Loki is not with her. Not here. Their daughter’s been delivered to him by some Xandarian caregiver. Thor cannot fathom any reason Loki would abandon their child, save for if the worst happened.

Nausea overwhelms Thor.

Lightning did not kill Loki, but the snap…

_Thanos will pay._

“Did Lo—” Thor sucks in air. “Did Loki name her?”

“She called her Leikney.”

“Leikney,” Thor whispers.

He sweeps the babe into his arms, and she giggles, fingers grasping for his beard. He runs a thumb along the ringleted ends of her soft hair.

Rocket sniffs. “Come on, Krag—”

“I didn’t know Loki long, but I can tell ya she loved ya very much.”

Tears spill down Thor’s cheeks.

Leikney pats them dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned I love writing Rocket?
> 
> Thor... I keep doing this to you, but it's the MCU's fault. Ok, it's a bit my fault. Leikney, I believe, can roughly translate to "new game/fight/amusement", which I felt was a fitting name for Loki to bestow upon his firstborn.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://foundlingmother.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://foundlingmother.dreamwidth.org/)


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